The Incubus and The Pastor
by californiatart
Summary: The incubus next victim is the new pastor working in a Roman Catholic Church. The pastor's pure flesh was delicious and he wanted to devour him whole, but what is this haunting hesitation inside his hollow heart? 2P!FelicianoxLudwig


_**Warning**_: This story contains religious references and dark themes, so if you are an innocent person with a goodness mind, please stay away. I warned you, and I'm dead serious. Umm… yeah.

**Pairing**: 2P-Incubus!Feliciano X Pastor!Ludwig.

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_Gula - Gluttony_

A fascination of having extensive intake of all that one's actually need, to have self-control be thrown away only to focus their entire being on one obsession. In religions around the world, particularly in Christian's beliefs, "gluttony" was seemed and dreaded as a sin, since it is a person's disproportionate longing for anything, whether it is food, power, money, it is an act of egocentricity, to have something all to one's self but others. Of these ambiguous episodes of excessive compulsive 'eating' or 'consuming' episodes, the word "gluttony" can be deduced as an act of 'self-obsession'; because, fundamentally, it places the welfare of an individual's own benefits and satieties over everybody else's needs and happiness.

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_... Ah, there he is._

Today, a silk white robe adorned with silver lining graces on his body, the black scarf draped over his overcoat have two cross symbol on both side at the front. A tall hat canopied over his refined handsome face, making him look much older than he appears, more sophisticated, more refined, more matured. The slipper he wore make small noises of clicking and clocking as he moves gracefully forward, toward the podium's front. In his right arm is a thick bind bible; he was clutching it to his heart like a valuable treasure chest. Behind him are his followers, their attires are similar to him, like a sea of blacks and whites. What stood out the most from the monotone color are the pastor's eyes, akin to rare turquoise jewels. Everything about this young man seems unearthly and atypical; he does not look the part of an ordinary Italian civilian. His presence belong elsewhere, an aristocrat, a nobleman, or a prince, perhaps? His high jaw line, silky alabaster white skin, polished moon kissed golden hair, blood red crimson lips.

_My. He looks absolutely delicious._

An air of good grace glowed around the young man as he greet evenings to the people who sat near his pathway up to the podium ahead. Rile of calm ocean breeze emitted from the pastor's body, the trail reach a young woman, sitting in a corner by the huge intricate image of The Virgin Marry cut-glass window. The early evening light casted a shadow over her, creating a devilish appearance about her. In her entangled hands, she was holding a little tarnish wooden cross necklace, similar to the one when Jesus was crucified. She licks her pink lips upon seeing such an angelic, delicate, attractive man like the pastor.

Her auburn brown eyes hazed into a dark amber color as she observes the pastor steps. She grabs a thin strand of her long, sandy hair and twirls it around in circles, faking sweet innocence. She bit her lips hard as soon as she got a glimpse of his fined muscle flexing underneath his robe. There are some men nervously glancing at the woman here and there, blushing and whispering among themselves of her whereabouts and identity.

_"Who is she?''_

_"Does she come here often?"_

_"Where is her lover?"_

Annoyed, she pretends to pray, gripping onto the cross in her hands tightly. Her red heels accidentally scratch against the wood table when she tried to turn to the other way, uninterested. Her white, expensive dress shifts along with her gentle movement, cascading and revealing pale creamy skin underneath. Returning her attention elsewhere, she recalled of the young man addressed himself as "_Pastor Beilschmidt_", a follower of god, saving the lord's many other children from committing sins and giving into temptations. He told the people in the church that he comes from Germany to save them from damnation. And he was right; the people who listen to his advice attained a healthy, prosperous life with promising futures and hopes ahead. Quietly giggling to herself, she glances at the pastor's body up and down, mischievous thoughts clouded in her mind. The pastor quietly positioned himself behind the tall burgundy wooden stand and blue eyes scanned over the crowd beneath him, carefully making eye-contact with his audience. He places the bible on top of the table and begins reading a verse out loud.

_"Psalm, 23… The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever."_

After finishing the proverb, his face was ecstatic and bright, he smile elatedly, and reminiscence about a time when he was at his lowest. He hopes that by sharing the verse, his follower too will be saved, just like him, for they are one with god, in this closed room. The pastor held out his hands as if he wanted to ask for God's presence, and begin chanting in an ancient language. His powerful booming voice echoed throughout the room, entrancing and captivating his listeners with ease. After a while, one by one, the listeners join along Pastor Beilschmidt's voice and sing along his beautiful tune.

Once the hour of preaching is completed, it is time for the ceremony of forgiveness and purification of wrong doing. The group gathers in a single line, waiting for their turn for good words from Pastor Beilschmidt. A man at the front would cross his arms against his heart like an "X", kneeling on the floor, and Pastor Beilschmidt would pour the purified water from the holy grail to erase his immoral deeds and transform him into a good child of god. Likewise, everybody else behind the man was then cleansed in the same fashion.

When the purification process ended, Pastor Beilschmidt had a small "dinner" with his people. He tried to replicate Christ's last supper by breaking pieces of bread for everybody and passes out wine glasses for adults, forming a bond with his follower. In the bible, before his final breath, Jesus had told his people, _"Do this to remember Me."_, and this is how it is for Pastor Beilschmidt for most meetings. He did this kind of ''Holy Communion" with his followers every Sunday to treasure the present, remembering the past, and welcomed the future with open arms. _How very cute of him._ The divine evening glow in the room soon was cast and corrupted over by the night's shadow. Creatures of the night life in Rome rejoice and parading themselves outside, hungrily lusting over the pure aura emitting from within the church. As if sensing the incoming danger, the pastor dismisses his follower inside the room for the day.

Pastor Beilschmidt stood next to the gate, bowling and waving away his listeners, thanking them for another wondrous meeting.

"Have a good night, Pastor Beilschmidt." A soft feminine called out, the woman flashed the young German man a bold flirtatious, seductive smile.

"You too, madam." The pastor replied, a molest interest in his voice. Pastor Beilschmidt, in return, bats a pair of half-baked eyes at her, and fakes a small smile halfheartedly. As soon as her back is against the pastor, her innocence eyes scowl harshly, her lips parted and dropped, similar to a wild canine losing his prey.

_Tch. Not into women aren't you, tough guy._

After leaving the church, the woman walks into a dark inclusive alleyway by herself, unmoved by the mysterious dark space. She secures her pale body into the black shadows, two bat-like wings shot out from her back, and a tail of hers that resembled to the devil's spear, whips around her like snakes dancing. Her chest deflated into a flat board, her hair would felt out of her head like a raining shower, un-feminizing herself into a form of a little boy. The boy rip off his white, ruffles, blowy dress, revealing a skin tight leather corset with delicate flower lace embellished all over it. His black tight slacks were as scandalous as his top, barely covering his bottom and front. The boots he always wore is as dark as the night, securing his obscenity in the shadow, just like the abyss around him. He adores the night life, a freedom granted to his kind. He was an incubus. He loves to draws the tainted sins and impure pleasures out of his victims in order to maintain a youthful appearance, which he dearly treasures. Sitting on a wooden water barrel, the boy cross his legs; his chin lean against the palm of his hand.

"Vee.." He pondered to himself silently, of what buttons he should push in order to have Pastor Beilschmidt all to himself.

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_Bored._

The incubus was bored of the same routine, the same expectation, and then the same old result. Like right now, the woman beneath him writhe and thrashing around in a deep pleasurable trance. She threw her head back, revealing dirty olive skin, moaning and groaning his name in a beloved chant. It always start with the flush of heated excitement upon the first meeting, arousal and curiosity, rose between a mortal and a demonic being… Then… the shy gestures of interests, and little harmless touches of skin, here and there. Next is a confession, connecting two hearts to together, forming an unbreakable bond. Lastly, the door would close with a soft '_click_' as the two sinner dance the night away, in throws of passion and malevolent, lustful moans filled the empty space. _A union occur._

His lover for the night is an enticing little vixen from Hungary, her thick accent peak the incubus' nosiness, and all day long, he would wonder how her essence would add on to his beauty. The boy approach the women when she was waltzing her way home, coming out of a saloon by herself. Her emerald eyes was the most brilliant color, her peacock lime long dress only intensified the sharp feature further. She had long, lengthy, wavy hair that shine under the dim street light, it look so touchable, like feathers of a peacock. The women, _willingly_, had invited him to her home, pushed him against the wall, and had her sneaky way with him. She was drunk under his young, fresh handsome face.

_A satisfied scream of release._

"Feliciano...!" All of her sexual energy burst through their jointed hips, and into his lithe body. Her taste was the most dull and uninteresting of all, a whore probably._ Eww_. And just like his every other victim, her fluid continue to flow into his system for a short period of time. Her body begins to shriveled up like a dead rose and slowly disintegrated before him. Getting up from his feet, the incubus step on her burnt ashes, rolling his heels in a mocking manner.

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The pearly white gate opens; the spectacular scenery was like a passageway to nirvana. A garden lushes in beryl, chartreuse, jade, sage, malachite; in all sort of greens, garlanded the snowy walls to welcome their guests and visitors. The silver stone steps in the middle lead to a massive and grand building, obviously meant for loyalties. With a small jolt, the huge ivory door unlocks, the inside was even more magnificent than its exterior. Rows and rows of refined wooden jointed tables and chairs, the room was already half way filled with people in shades of chalky snows. Glass windows were decorated with images of gods, goddesses, and sons of the Lord. The light from the sun peaked through the opened glass window and its crevices only highlighted the bleached, alabaster color of the marble floor. Rainbow of colors would clashed together to formed a big voluptuous space fit for a king. On the ceilings, is a huge painting of baby angels cheerfully playing hide and seeks with one another. Behind the podium is a rock craving of Jesus, dressed in a ruby scarlet robe with a cobalt cloak around his shoulder. There was a golden halo on his head; he was making a gesture using his hands, as if he was greeting his children. The bells ring loudly, in unison at one point, signaling the ray of morning peaked. Incense of burnt firewood seals the room. This is a perfect getaway for attendants of god.

The pastor place a small book on the wodden stand, the huge front "Roman Rite" was on the cover. He flips open the book to a page with the feather bookmark, his mouth parted slightly, and then he begins reading.

"God the Father of mercies,

through the death and resurrection of his Son

has reconciled the world to himself

and sent the Holy Spirit among us

for the forgiveness of sins;

through the ministry of the Church

may God give you pardon and peace,

and I absolve you from your sins

in the name of the Father, and of the Son,

and of the Holy Spirit."

Today, Pastor Beilschmidt decided to have an open Sacrament of Penance confession for all his followers. Each individual must come up to the podium before the pastor and confess their sin. The ladies were modest and shy; they blushed and admit to little things, the stench of lies and deceit flow around them like a spider wed. Some of the men were honest though, admitting to having lustful thoughts and greed clouded their mind. _This is way too boring_. Where are all of the wonderful, deceitful lies? The wrong mischiefs? The secretive cheats and affairs? The people of Rome are either too lazy or too stupid to fall for immoral sins.

After everybody was done, the boy who sat in the last row stood up, the final sinner. His ginger chestnut eyes was round and large, a sign of incorruption, a shy blush spread on his cheeky cheeks. As his two little feet waltz toward Pastor Beilschmidt, his small hips sway temptingly, urging the man to join him in a dance. His attire consists of a black button-up shirt, a small bow tied underneath his neck. The matching pants he wore hits just above his ankle, both sides of the fabric was split, giving space for movements. His leather shoes shine darkly against the contrasting bright light in the room. The boy look like a beautiful deadly doll, his porcelain skin was as pale as white paint. Coming to a sudden halt, he kneels on the ground before the pastor. Toes curling, ohh... so close, he wets his lips in hunger. Closing his playful eyes, both of his hands clutch together, pressing against his chest. A small smile decorated his mouth.

"Pastor Beilschmidt, I have committed the sin of Gluttony. I know I should not have consumed more than I could but it was very hard to resist the temptation." The boy professed, his inner incubus giggled at his bland statement. Opening his hazel eyes, the pastor was observing him with a strange look. The taller male cleared his throat, his blush intensified.

"… Now that you have confessed your deed, god will forgive you because you, like everybody else, is his children. A father will always love his child regardless of their wrong doing... Please stay away from the fruit bowl over there." Pastor Beilschmidt joked, not fully understand the intent behind the Italian boy's innocence remark. The people around him burst into small chuckles, the room becomes festive and alive. The young boy's smile widened. A sinister smile of a blood thirst demon, but everybody was too occupied to notice the change in his behavior. His long, snake-like tongue licked the tip of his pointed canine teeth. _Oh, this is just too precious…_

Time had passed on once the boy is finish with his confession, now, beside Pastor Beilschmidt, is a large gold cup filled with stilled lucid water. Using a smaller container, he filled the cup with some of the purified water, and pours it over the boy's face. A white towel was ready in the pastor hand, he slowly wipe off the excess water on the youngster's face.

At the end of the day, Pastor Beilschmidt stood by the gate to greet farewells to his listeners. People slowly disappear one by one; the church became less lively, a dull silent finally masked over the empty building. The Italian boy was the only one left; he smiled naively, and waves a small good bye to the pastor.

"Good bye, dear child." The older male affirmed, returning the boy's guiltless gesture. When the boy's back is turn against the man, Pastor Beilschmidt's blue eyes follows his every step, his breath taken away. A ghostly, blank stare on his face, his dry lips parted.

.

Ahead of the incubus is his nest, it is a castle left by his beloved Grandpa Rome. The immense fortress isolate itself away from prying eyes, it sat proudly on top of a cliff, hanging over a dry, dreary stream. Its walls were a rich dark onyx color; violet poisons miasma floats around the grim barriers, sucking the life out of their festive surrounding. The ghouls howl in the pitch black night, hungry for fresh flesh of lost young, innocent children. The sounds they were making were like a smooth melody to the boy, he hummed happily along the dreadful tune. Tonight, the full moon bleeds a crimson color, his favorite part about going home. The incubus enjoys seeing the red gloomy atmosphere, a time when he could freely dance away, bathe in the night of passion and desire.

There were stenches of decaying death emitted from the inside of the ominous palace, and it could only mean that elder brother Francis is staying for the night. Bastard, always bringing home a large group of prostitutes, and then flew away without cleaning his filth. The incubus tail whip back and forth in displeasure. Envious that brother Francis always slept with pretty girls and not a dime of thought of playing with him like they used to.

Too bothered waking up his servants, the incubus wings sprung open. The shadow cascade created by his dark wings wrap around his body like a sheet of blankets. His feet slowly floated off the ground for a mere second. With full force, the boy lifts himself upward and flew into the dark, unwelcoming opening. Stopping midway, with a graceful tap, his window swung open, this is a secret entrance to the castle only he and his second brother, Lovino, know of. The corridor behind the window was icy frigid, cold wind current entangled themself around the incubus like leeches.

"Hnn...!" An unpleasant sound of a male grunt echoed through the opaque, murky stone walkway. Lovino was in another room, sucking the essence of his new obsession, a Spanish man. Stupid brother, having all the fun to himself.

At the end of his trip, to the right, is his chamber. The old, rusty, burnished wooden door slinks open, unlike the rest of the filthy spacious castle's rooms; pleasant smells of roses would penetrate his nose. He steps inside; his tail closes the door behind him with an ethereal creaking sound. Taking off his boots, he stretched his feet blissfully; a satisfied grin bloomed over his youthful face. He removes his corset and shorts, in a second, the incubus was naked, he loves the feel of the bare night against his skin. With an innocent face, his finger scratched his dusty pink cheek, he pondered, what should he wear tomorrow to impress Pastor Beilschmidt.

Before settling in for the night, the incubus could not resist one last glance at himself in the mirror before his beauty sleep. On the opposite side of his bed, there is a giant glass mirror, the rim decor with European designs of shiny coated dark roses. Looking at his reflection, he noticed that the holy water from earlier… it pierces through his beautiful, porcelain skin, a vapor of smoke escape through the cracked flesh on his lovely face. The incubus' bright eyes turn into a deep shade of ivy maroon under his dimly lighted room.

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_**Author's Note**_: Hi friends! I was going to drop this story due to the lack of inspiration and laziness. But then, I remembered that I had promised a reviewer that I would finish this… So, I went back and edit, edit, edit, hopefully it was better, somewhat? And it is official, I am continuing this!


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